Chapter 8

Women.

You think you know. You think you've got it all figured out, and then they throw a curveball at you.

I couldn't deny the feeling behind what Red had told me, but I sure wasn't certain she was right. So far we'd had nothing but trouble, and the hole we were in didn't seem to be getting any shallower. I awkwardly put my arm around Red's back, patting her a few times while looking at Sandy over the top of her head. She simply nodded at me, with an expression on her face that was completely unreadable. I shifted my weight a bit, and Red took the hint and let go. She stepped back from me, suddenly shy and awkward, more like the Red I was used to. She stammered a couple of times, something sounding like an apology.

Jesus... how was I supposed to deal with this? Red opens up to me, and challenges my whole outlook on life. It's almost enough to make a guy forget that he just introduced a brick to another guy's head, and now is on the run from the law. Just like that my head started to swim again, but in a different direction. For whatever reason, the little guy in my head was screaming "Damn the Torpedoes! Full Speed Ahead!". I took a breath and looked at the girls. Red had said her piece, but Sandy had been strangely quiet.

"How do YOU feel about all this, Sandy? Do you want me to stay with you two and try and get us all out of this mess? I know I haven't done much of a job of it so far, and I can't promise you that..."

"Shut Up, Lenny," she spat. "You think I don't see what's going on here? You think I don't know what you're doing? You may think of us as these sweet innocent flowers, but I promise you, we're not naïve!" Her eyes flashed as she spat the words in my direction, nodding towards Red for emphasis.

"I never said you were, San..."

"Didn't I just sat shut up? Now look... you're so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you're going to get us all killed. Have you made some bad decisions? Sure, but we're not in a situation where there are a whole hell of a lot of GOOD decisions to be made. Do you really think that there's an easy way out of this mess that we're in, and that you're obligated to find it? Red and I have followed you because the ideas you have had have been the best ones available. Do I think you should stay with us? As far as I'm concerned you can go your own way, but I think even you would have to admit we're better off sticking together. You need to hole up, same as us, Lenny, and we might as well do it together."

I waited, watching her warily.

"Can I talk again now?"

She flushed a little, some color creeping up onto her marble-hued cheekbones.

"You may."

"Thanks. So now that we've all had our say, what's the next step? It's getting dark, we have no vehicle, and the odds of somebody stumbling across that dead body over there grow by the minute. Not to mention the unpleasant folks who are looking for you. This won't be the first place they check, but it's far from the last. I'm pretty sure there aren't any more cabs coming here tonight, but all these cars belong to someone. Most of them are out of town, but we're going to have company, and soon. We need a plan, ladies. What do you think? I'm open to ideas here."

Both girls put on their best concentration faces, and I watched in awe as they both, independently, came to the conclusion that this was a problem that needed more gum. Without looking at each other, they still managed to reach into their purses at exactly the same time and add to their arsenal. Witnessing this, I relaxed inside. Something that took THAT much concentration was going to be a plan to behold.

"Sorry. I got nothing." Red chirped.

"Me neither, Lenny. Sorry."

As Sandy had gotten into the flow of events, her shock (and evidently her pain) had subsided, and I guessed I was seeing more of her true self. Lovely.

"So once again it's back on me? Wonderful. OK, we need to get out of here. The Mustangs were all misses with the keychain. Do either of you see any other Mustangs in the lot? We could really use the wheels."

"What's a Mustang look like?" Red wondered aloud as she turned toward the far end of the lot, her eyes peering across the rows of vehicles.

"You know Jimmy James?" Sandy replied, looking off in another direction.

"Yeah?"

"That car he's always raving about? The one that he's never more then 15 feet away from? That's a Mustang. One of the older ones anyhow. Start by looking for those."

"I already tried the blue one over there," I pointed in the right direction, but was steadfastly ignored.

I looked out towards the bus stop, trying to see if there was any way I had missed one on my way out. I HAD had a lot on my mind...

"Got one, Lenny."

It was Sandy, and she was pointing to the far end of the lot. At this point the lights had come on, and there was a harsh glare on the few cars in the last couple of stalls. I could see the bumper, though, and could just make out the 'Mustang" imprinted on it.

"OK, girls. Let's all head there together. That's got to be it, and if it's not, we'll just leave out that end and try and find a place for the night."

"Actually, Lenny, I think there's a flophouse just around the corner from here. It's pretty cheap, but you have to pay by the hour, and the rooms ain't exactly soundproof..." Red trailed off, looking at me.

I heaved a big sigh, took a gaze up to the stars, and then nodded my head once.

"Thanks, Red."

We all made our way from the taxi stand, looking as inconspicuous as a one-handed bald guy in a trenchcoat with a backpack over one shoulder and two hookers in all their high-heeled glory can look skulking through a parking lot in the dark of night. We might have had a better chance of remaining unnoticed by anyone passing by if we had been playing trumpets as we went. Luckily, nobody looked our way, or if they did, they simply decided that whatever was going on wasn't going to be worth the effort. I watched more for movement than anything else, glancing left and right, with a few other glances over my shoulder to check on the area where we had left Mister Gun. Still as a cemetery... so to speak. Before I knew it, we were at the car.

Now, some cars are beautiful no matter what. You get your hands on a Porsche, of any kind, and you know it's a Porsche. It's a thing of beauty, even if it's got bad paint, been in an accident, whatever. Some cars are just made that way. They're works of art. Until just that second, I thought Mustangs were the same thing. I was wrong.